


You Will Fall

by edengrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Draco Malfoy, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Slow Burn, Veela, Veela Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edengrace/pseuds/edengrace
Summary: Draco is returning for his sixth year at Hogwarts, newly marked as a death eater but uneasy with the prospect of what he must do to survive. He begins to feel pulled in unexpected directions, and at the most dangerous time to fall in love, he begins to fear his life might not be the worst thing he could lose.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters, settings and a lot of the storyline included in this work are all the intellectual property of JK Rowling, our queen. I do not claim ownership over any of them, this is not supposed to be part of the official Harry Potter universe, and I am not making money off of this, just losing my mind. All hail Queen Jo.

The rooms were darker than they used to be. Even though the windows soared from floor to ceiling, the light seemed to stay on the other side of the glass, never quite reaching the wooden floors and gloomy wallpaper of the ancient house. Draco was becoming used to the darkness, he was learning to wear it as a cloak, to hide the echo of his footsteps around his ancestral home, overrun with death eaters and their miserable company. They were all sitting in his dining room now, crowded around the impossibly long dining table, all stiff with nervous anticipation. Draco sat in the middle of the table, looking at the walls, the ceiling, the fireplace, the other death eaters, anywhere but the woman next to him. Narcissa sat tall, hands folded in her lap, her back rigid. She was a fine balance of submissive and predatory, meeting the eyes of her companions, but not challenging them. The death eaters were, for the most part, silent, the occasional murmur seemed a rude intrusion on the solemnity. They were all waiting, they knew, no one dared speaking of anything important before he arrived. The Dark Lord did not necessarily mandate that they weren’t to speak outside his presence, but no one wanted to take the risk. Several of their brothers had been made example of for seemingly innocent infractions, asking questions, interrupting. This was not a democracy, that much was clear. They were sheep, blindly following orders, not making decisions. 

There was a darkening of the candles, a hush fell over the table as the air seemed to thicken, and under the doorway curled tendrils of smoke. The double doors opened and out of the darkness stepped their leader, his arms folded beneath his billowing black robes, eyes seeming to slice through whoever they landed on. 

“My brothers and sisters.”  
Voldemort stalked into the room, pausing to rest his hand on the back of Narcissa’s chair.  
“Narcissa,” he breathed. “Thank you once again for your.. hospitality.”  
Soft snickers echoed around the table. Narcissa glared around the table, but offered no reply to the Dark Lord, eventually casting her eyes down.  
“Ah.. Draco,” Voldemort stepped past her and rested both hands now around the young wizard’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you are here with us. I believe I have found a way for you to redeem your family’s name.”  
Draco glanced across the table to see the emotionless eyes of his godfather, his hands clasped together on the table, thumbs slowly twirling. He did his best to suppress a shiver, and gulped down his fear.  
“Thank you, my lord.”  
“Yes,” the Dark Lord breathed, “you will be very well placed to help me this year, as you return to Hogwarts.” 

Draco nearly groaned at the thought of going back to school when there was a war brewing, but the idea of bringing his family back into the good graces of the Dark Lord was too good an opportunity to be missed. As Voldemort continued his slow pace throughout the room, outlining his plan and the young Malfoys’ part in it, Draco felt his throat tighten and his stomach drop. Narcissa’s gaze retained it’s detached and cautious interest, but her knuckles were white as she squeezed her hands under the table. He was to spy, to watch Dumbledore, Potter, and their band of miscreant muggle-loving blood traitors. He was to spread the darkness to all the purebloods in Slytherin, to cement them to the cause, recruit the next generation of death eaters. 

“But that is not all I would ask of you this year, Draco.” Voldemort said as his stroll brought him back to the head of the table, gracefully lowering himself into his seat. Later, Draco would reflect that much of Voldemort’s power was in his charisma, his presence. It was as though he had rehearsed every moment of his life, his words, his movement, and he executed them masterfully. So in that room, full of death eaters, no one dared move their eyes away until their leader had laid down Draco’s last task, and what amounted to a death sentence for the young boy. 

“You will kill Albus Dumbledore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super short just to set the stage for the story, I'm planning to roughly follow Half Blood Prince's storyline, but it will obviously deviate in quite a big way... anyway I hope you like it, and thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He could sense that someone was watching him. Of course, people really were watching him, his mother, the shopkeeper at Borgin & Burkes, and the wolf, Fenrir. They were watching him inspect the cabinet, he was trying to memorize the way it looked so he could be sure it was the same one Montague had gotten lost in last year at school. It looked the same, the wood was smooth, dark, cold. The one at Hogwarts was a little rougher around the edges, it was rumoured to have been dropped from quite a height in one of Peeves’ temper tantrums. This cabinet had been well maintained here, amongst the dark curiosities the shriveled shopkeeper collected. Despite acknowledging who was watching him, Draco still felt a tug of unease, sending prickles of discomfort across his skin. He felt a pull to look up and outside the window behind him, to the tiled rooftops spreading out over wizard London, but when he glanced up, all he saw was Fenrir, staring menacingly out the window before he closed the curtains.  
“What is it Draco?” Narcissa asked.  
“Nothing.. just thought I heard something.” 

Even after they left, the sensation of tingles along his skin never really left him. For days afterward, he would randomly get a shiver and look down to see the icy golden hairs of his arms standing up. He figured it was probably due to the dementors floating around the manor, they were probably tasting the air around them and sending tiny waves of cold wherever they could, just for the fun of it. It was uncomfortable, living in that house, but he was busy, scouring the dark tomes of his family’s library to find whatever information he could on vanishing cabinets, and the like. While he could find plenty of information about how to use them and why one might want to, he struggled to find much information about their upkeep, or how to fix a broken one. All he could find was the importance of testing the connection with inanimate objects first, rather than just jumping in there and getting splinched. Draco had been making notes on whatever he could find, and working with the cretin Borgin to learn how to fix it.  
Now he was standing on Platform 9 ¾, turning the information over in his head again as he lightly shook his left hand. The burning of the Dark Mark was supposed to have receded by now, but his was still red and painful, the ink still raised against his skin as though his body didn’t want to accept it. He had thought he would want to show it off to his friends the moment he got it, but for some reason he felt oddly embarrassed by it. He supposed because it was still sore, and he didn’t want to look weak. But a part of him remembered that moment when the blinding, searing pain had finished, and all he could think when he saw that inky swirling skull on his forearm was that he had made a mistake he might never recover from. Ever since then, he had felt these waves of unease, of goosebumps on his skin and shivers down his spine. Now, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the train station, he could add another feeling; annoyance. He would have to go back to dealing with classes, homework, quidditch games, and the insufferable masses of Hogwarts residents. He would be sitting in History of Magic while his mother was at home, sharing her house with a madman and his followers. 

Someone bumped into him as they rushed for the train, and he sneered in response to their hasty apologies.  
“Don’t draw attention to yourself Draco.” His mother murmured by his side. “Just keep your head down and do whatever you have to do to stay alive.”  
She turned to face him, her pale face stricken as she gazed into his concrete eyes. Narcissa would never usually permit herself to display emotion, but she wondered if this might be the last time she would ever see her only son, the only light in her shadowed life.  
Draco’s face softened slightly, and he leaned towards his mother to give her the briefest of hugs.  
“I’ll see you again soon. Be safe.” He whispered.  
“You too, my son.” 

As he pulled away from her, Draco’s gaze drifted over to the entrance to the platform, where a crowd of lanky redheads had just appeared. His jaw clenched as he recognized the younger Weasleys, along with their constant tagalongs, Potter and Granger. Potter was enduring a fierce hug from what must have been the matriarch of the family, while Granger was standing beside Ron, arm linked with Ginny’s as she tried to stop her lip from trembling. For some reason, Draco was entranced by the whole scene, Potter being slowly released from Mrs Weasley’s hug, Ron awkwardly shuffling his feet, and Granger’s damn quivering lip. His annoyance peaked to anger as Potter turned towards the train, and was immediately flanked by Weasley on his left and Granger his right, offering her friend a little smile.  
“Draco?” Narcissa questioned, pulling him out of his observation.  
“I’ll write once I get to Hogwarts.” Draco said, emotionless veneer back in place to hide his anger. He turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Narcissa alone on the busy, bustling platform. 

They were only just past half way on their journey when the cabin was filled with sparkling black smoke. Pansy was sure that it had been some pitiful first year trying to be funny, but Draco wasn’t so willingly naïve anymore. He purposely steered the conversation away from anything outside ears shouldn’t hear, and he made sure to hang back once they pulled in to the station. He had definitely seen that bag on the luggage rack move.  
“Are you coming Draco?” asked Pansy, hopeful.  
“You two go on.. I want to check something.”  
He closed the door behind her, pulling the drapes down on all the windows so it was just him, and what he knew could only be one person, in the cabin.  
“Didn’t mummy ever tell you it was rude to eavesdrop, Potter? Petrificus Totalus!”  
He felt a grim satisfaction in hearing the clunk of an immobilized body falling to the ground.  
“Oh yeah.” He added. “She was dead before you could wipe the drool off your chin.”  
It was a cheap shot, but for some reason he felt like Potter was the reason for the position he was in now. If Potter hadn’t destroyed the prophecy last year, Draco wouldn’t have to make amends for his father’s failures in the ministry. Hell, if Potter had just died the way he was supposed to 15 years ago, Draco would be living like a king in a new world. And his father wouldn’t be rotting in Azkaban. He gave Potter a vicious stomp to the face.  
“That’s for my father, enjoy your ride back to London.” He spat.  
Draco tossed the invisibility cloak over his victim, and, with a small smirk on his lips, strolled out of the cabin and started the dark path to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, Potter had managed to stay at Hogwarts. That lunatic blonde had something to do with it for sure, and now he had to endure the Golden Trio swanning about the castle, back to being heroes after the events at the ministry. The place was a joke, thought Draco, Dumbledore was wandering around as though having a hand that was burnt to a crisp was a completely normal affliction to have procured over the holiday, and one that he might overcome with time and a few of Pomfrey’s hot toddies. But the worst part of the new year was the new potions teacher, Professor Slughorn. Draco had tried to get on his good side at first, and maintain his position as first in the class, but the imbecile wanted nothing to do with him. Draco retreated, licking his wounds, and could only take comfort in the fact that Potty and Weasel weren’t in this class, clearly not having done well enough on their OWLs to be eligible. Granger, unfortunately, was still there, but perhaps he could be satisfied just to torment her when she was by herself, and vulnerable. He smirked, angling himself just fractionally closer to her so he might whisper in her ear as Slughorn began his lesson, when the door swung open and lo and behold, her rescuers appeared.   
“Harry m’boy!”   
Draco rolled his eyes and felt a wave of disgust roll through him, of course Slughorn was infatuated with Saint Potter. It would be just his luck that his favourite class would be completely ruined for his last year at school. Because, he wouldn’t be coming back to school next year. No, he would be at home, with the other death eaters, with his mother, working for Voldemort. If he was still alive.   
He was mulling these thoughts over in his head while Granger threw her hand up in the air. He hadn’t even heard Slughorn’s question.   
“Yes, Miss..?”  
“Granger sir.” She said, as she cautiously stepped towards the table with the various potions bubbling away. “That one’s Veritatserum sir, it’s a truth telling potion.” She informed the class in her annoyingly assured manner. Draco huffed, and glanced over to the cupboard where Potter and Weasley appeared to be scuffling over a book. Draco blinked in disbelief, he couldn’t believe someone as seemingly intelligent as Granger could stand being around those two oafs. She mustn’t be that clever after all. For example, she had just announced to the class that she found grass and parchment attractive. No Slytherin would be stupid enough to admit that aloud. Draco had thought that funny, until he found himself frowning over whether Potty or Weasel had ever used spearmint toothpaste.   
“Liquid Luck!” Granger blurted out.   
Draco shook his head slightly, what were they talking about now?   
“One sip, and you will find that all your endeavors succeed.” Slughorn was practically purring. Draco’s slowly raised his attention to the glass vial. He had to get that potion. 

Draco had never been so focused in his entire life. The atmosphere in the room was tense, as it seemed everyone had a reason for wanting to win the Liquid Luck. As the hour progressed, however, the competition was slowly whittled away. Finnigan managed to blow his potion up into his face, again, somehow; while Weasley’s cauldron started to emit purple smoke that smelt putrid and sent three girls and a pale looking Zabini outside gagging. Finally, there were only a handful of students left, but Draco felt that his only real competition had been Granger all along. Her hair seemed to have grown in all directions as she became more and more frazzled, and when Draco glanced up, he saw a fine sheen of sweat across her forehead as she furiously whispered something to a smiling Potter. Draco did a double take, Potter hadn’t fucked up yet. His cauldron seemed to be simmering at the right temperature, releasing a fine grey smoke as it was supposed to, and Potter seemed surprisingly calm, bordering on upbeat. Draco looked at his own cauldron, the same grey smoke, the same low flame, but it hadn’t developed the gloss it was meant to have. The black liquid looked a little too thick, a little too flat. He scoured the instructions in his book, and he was sure he had followed every single one of them. He had carefully counted the turns, counter and clockwise, every ingredient was measured with absolute precision, even the damn bean juice. He glanced up to see Granger looking imploringly at the blackboard, as though hoping some of the general information about the potion listed there might help her. She sighed, turned slightly and then suddenly, was looking straight at Draco. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, both of them frustrated and helpless. Somehow, looking at her disbelieving face, her stunned sense of defeat, he knew that Potter was going to win. Potter, who was terrible at potions and had only ever managed to complete half of their assignments, was going to beat Draco, who was always top of the class in potions, and Hermione, who was top in everything else. Draco ground his teeth and clenched his fists as Slughorn told them all to step away from their tables, still staring at Hermione who was gaping back at him. He dragged his gaze away, huffing at the unfairness of it all. Sure, he had always received favoritism in potions, but Potter got it everywhere bloody else. Still fuming, he didn’t even watch as Slughorn dropped a tiny leaf into his potion, which fizzled and slowly began to coalesce into a black lump.   
“It is near perfect, and would probably send us all into a deep coma, but as I said, to win the Felix Felicis, the potion must be completely perfect. I suspect one of the counter clockwise turns in the 17th minute was incomplete. Ah but don’t worry, Mr Malfoy, we’ll get it next time eh?” commented Slughorn as he waddled over to the next cauldron. 

Draco had stopped paying attention, he had wandered over to the table laid out with different potions where the bottle Felix Felicis was held, suspended by it’s neck in the air. Grumbling to himself, Draco wondered if maybe he could just pocket it now, before anyone noticed it was gone.   
As he was contemplating it, Draco noticed a scent emanating from somewhere in the room. It was like.. smoke, perhaps. Like the smell of a woodfire, mixed with the rich leather smell of the ancient wing-backed armchairs in his library at home. He used to curl up in those chairs with a book when he was a boy, the fireplace pouring forth heat and smoke as his eyelids drooped. But just as soon as he had placed it, the scent changed, and now it was fresh, clean, tart. It was the smell of green apples. Every summer for as long as he could remember, his mother would pick apples from their vineyard, sit in the grass, and peel the skin off in one long, wayward curl. He breathed in deeply, remembering the juices dripping down his chin and coating his pale fingers, when it changed again. This time, he didn’t immediately recognize the scent. It was so familiar, yet so foreign. It was.. honey. Sweet, golden, smooth, honey. He nearly groaned, it smelled so delicious, and he thought he could almost taste it is in his mouth when,  
“Merlin’s beard, it is perfect! I daresay one drop could kill us all!” 

Draco was fuming as he threw his books in his bag. Potter was a damn cheat. He needed that damn potion. He stormed out of the classroom, barely looking where he was going. In his angry rush, he barged into someone as he walked past, and was suddenly hit with a strong scent. It was the same sweet smell of honey that he had caught back in the dungeon, but it was somehow stronger, slightly earthier. The force of his impact caused the person to drop their books, and Draco heard a soft voice cry out in surprise. He turned back to see Granger, crouching on the ground collecting the books, quills, and various bits of parchment he had caused her to drop. He noticed a book on the ground between them, just out of her reach, and he stood there for a moment, looking down at her as she huffed a piece of hair out of her face and turned angry eyes up towards him. There was a stalemate for a moment as both wondered whether he would help her, whether he would pick up the book. He swallowed the scent of honey, tucked his hands in his pockets, and turned to walk away.   
“Watch where you’re going, mudblood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our hero has such a way with women. Swoon. Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

The days were slowly getting colder. They were creeping towards winter break, and Draco was still struggling to make any improvement with the vanishing cabinet. Borgin was sending him directions that he was following to the letter, but when he performed a modified revelio charm to look for innate magic, there was no blue glow to indicate that the cabinet was functioning again. Between letters from Borgin, all Draco could do was go to class, go to meals, try to sleep. Try not to imagine his mother, surrounded by murderers and fanatics, or his father, languishing in a prison cell. He found himself in the library a lot, sneaking out late at night to search for information about vanishing cabinets. After the first week he had exhausted the few references that he could find, but still he would creep out of bed when he couldn’t sleep, and make his quiet way there again. He would wander the aisles, pick a book at random, and force himself to read it until his eyes would drift shut and he could get a few hours of desperately needed sleep. Sometimes, just before he woke, he dreamt that he was in a garden, surrounded by flowers, the afternoon sunlight turning the grass to gold, and bees drifting all around him. He lay on his back in the grass, his eyes drifting closed, as a small hand slipped into his and gave a gentle squeeze. When he woke, he was always so convinced the dream had been real that it took a good few minutes before he could shake off the smell of flowers, the feel of sunlight on his skin. 

If his private mission was going terribly, his classes were faring little better. He had never been a bad student, in fact he had constantly been frustrated at coming second to Granger in nearly every class, but this year he barely cared to even attend classes, much less pay attention. His thoughts were constantly on the cabinet, and what he would do if it didn’t work. Or, just as terrifying, what he would do if it did. 

He was constantly trying to prepare himself for either eventuality, often spacing out during classes that were particularly dull so he could think about having to actually kill Dumbledore. History of Magic was a particularly useful class for this purpose, as Professor Binns’ monotonous droning provided easy white noise for his ruminating. He was currently sitting in class attempting to zone out or even nap, when his attention was snatched away by a little scratching noise. He looked across the room, and there was Granger, scribbling away at a piece of parchment, while the entire class dozed around her. Only a handful of students took History of Magic in sixth year, mostly Ravenclaws, who liked the idea of history more than the study of it, and Slytherins, who were expected to know the story of their families and their contribution to magical society from the days of Merlin. Granger was an outlier. A Gryffindor, and a mudblood, she was supposed to be dimwitted and talentless and yet, here she was, persevering in her studies where the brightest and purest had given up. Draco was irritated, but couldn’t deny that he was also curious. Why was she even here, in this class, when this wasn’t her history to learn? Slowly, so as not to arouse any attention, he sat up in his seat, plucking two pieces of parchment from his desk. Ironically, he had Granger to thank for the little piece of magic he was about to perform. He had been shocked to find out she had mastered the Protean charm last year, and had practiced the charm in his spare time the last few weeks to perfect it. No mudblood would be better at magic than he was. 

Hermione jumped when the little paper aeroplane popped up on her desk. She looked around, frowning, until she noticed Draco, on the other side of the room, glowering and looking pointedly at the note and back to her. He watched her steel herself, taking a deep breath, before she opened the plane up to read his missive. 

_What are you doing here, mudblood?_  
She sighed. Then her eyes widened as more writing appeared on the paper.  
_Aren’t you scared without your guard dogs to protect you?_  
She looked up, he was still staring at her, this time with the smallest of smirks on his porcelain face. She scanned his face, obviously suspicious. Clearly working out her answer. She leaned over the page to write, her hair falling as a curtain over her face.  
_I’m here to learn. Maybe you don’t care about history, but I do. Now leave me alone._  
He frowned at that, but before he could respond, she was writing again.  
_And no, I’m not scared, certainly not of you._  
He couldn’t help but grin. There was the Granger he loved to tease.  
_Are you sure? I think that lionhearted bravery is all talk. I think the Gryffindor Princess would be too frightened to face the Slytherin Prince in a dark alley._  
_Are you the prince in this scenario?_  
_Obviously._  
_And I thought your ego peaked in third year._

He snorted at that, quickly glancing around to make sure no one noticed. Everyone else seemed oblivious, Blaise had briefly perked his head up only to lay it back down on the desk and return to sleep. Only Granger seemed to have heard it, if the smile on her face was anything to go by. That was enough to piss him off once again.  
_It’s not ego, it’s my heritage. I come from a long line of pureblooded Slytherin wizards. My family are part of the sacred 28. I’m practically royalty, Granger._  
_The Weasleys are part of your ‘sacred’ 28. They’re not assholes about it._

Draco couldn’t help the irritation that surged through him. Just hearing Weasley’s name was enough to make him furious.  
_Your little boyfriend is a blood traitor. That whole family just wishes they were muggles. It’s disgusting._  
_He’s no more a blood traitor than you are a prince. There’s nothing wrong with being a muggle, but being an elitist, narrow-minded bigot, that is disgusting._  
He bristled at that. But he wouldn’t back down.  
_Nothing wrong with being a muggle? They’re dirty, backwards creatures that have nearly destroyed their whole world several times in just the last century. They’ve killed more people than any wizards have, and no matter how many of them still live in filth and poverty, they keep working out more ways to kill each other, rather than ways to help each other. You have nothing in your dirty muggle history to be proud of, Granger. I guess that’s why you’re here then, because you want to steal mine._

He could see her eyes darting between her class notes and his message, getting wider and angrier as each word appeared on her parchment. She shot her head up, looking him straight in the eye, and the fury and determination that he saw in her look blazed a hole in him. The class came to an abrupt end, and students started getting up from their desks, yawning, as Hermione furiously scribbled a reply. 

_This history is as much mine as it is yours, Draco. I didn’t steal my magic, I was born with it, just like you were. The only difference between us is that I didn’t grow up learning about the culture, or history of magic. But I’m damn well making up for it now. I’m learning everything I can about magic so that one day I can show the magical community just how much muggle-borns are capable of. Yes, muggles aren’t perfect, but I am proud of my heritage, both muggle and magical. And if you think that your ‘sacred’ blood makes you better than me, just remember where you learnt this fucking charm in the first place._

He couldn’t breathe. Her anger was crashing into his chest like waves slapping on rocks. He dragged himself up from his seat, feeling wooden and frazzled, hurrying to gather his quills and parchment. He stuffed the note from Hermione in his pocket, for some reason he didn’t want to throw it away. They had started out almost amicably, bantering, teasing, until he had made things personal. It wasn’t until hours later, when he emptied his pockets at the end of the day, that he noticed the postscript she must have added once she had calmed down enough to be saddened by him. 

_Magic doesn’t discriminate between mudbloods and purebloods, Draco… And neither should you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

He was achey. His muscles protested with every step he took and every spell he cast. He guessed he could only miss out on so many meals and so much sleep before his body started to shut down. But the cabinet wasn’t any nearer to being fixed. First term was nearly over, soon he would be going home for the Christmas break. He sweated as he walked to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was going to need to come up with a back up plan. When he had first been given the task of killing Dumbledore, his head had been filled with visions of green light blasting out of his wand, the old man crumpling to the ground, standing over the body, his mother’s relieved face. Now, he felt torn, like something inside of was pulling him in another direction, slowly, slowly tearing him away from what he thought he wanted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be the one to kill Dumbledore anymore. Even if it would save his family. He wasn’t sure he could do it. 

He walked into the Great Hall, and his eyes instantly zeroed in on her. Granger. He hadn’t spoken to her in the week since the history of magic class, but he found himself always looking for her. At first, it was out of some bizarre kind of regret, he wanted to make sure she wasn’t upset after their argument. He justified it as self-preservation, if she went crying to Potter and Weasley, he could have the whole Gryffindor quidditch team out for his blood. But somehow, it had evolved past that. Even when he wasn’t looking for her, he was always aware of her. Where she was in the room, what she was doing. Right now, she was just eating breakfast, reading the Daily Prophet, while Ginny and Ron bickered beside her, stealing food off each other’s plates. Potter, however, was looking back at him. Draco had a feeling that the wonder boy suspected him, he had since he found Potter spying on him on the train. He sneered at the scar-faced miscreant, and strolled over to the Slytherin table, slipping in next to Blaise. 

“Draco.”  
“Blaise.”   
Neither boy was very talkative before breakfast. Once they had taken a few mouthfuls of eggs, noticeably less on Draco’s part, Blaise cleared his throat.   
“You look like shit.” He murmured under his breath, not even bothering to look at his classmate.   
“Don’t sound so smug about it, you look like shit everyday.”   
Blaise huffed, both amused and concerned.   
“Listen, Draco, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know you’re not sleeping. Don’t think we don’t hear you getting out of bed at 2 in the morning.”   
Draco side eyed him, heavily skeptical.   
“We?”   
Blaise rolled his eyes.   
“Well, not Crabbe and Goyle, but nothing short of an apocalypse could wake them in the middle of the night.”   
That got a smile.   
“I’m not even sure that would do it. They would just sleep through and wonder why we were all dead when they woke up.”   
“I don’t know why you put up with their idiocy, Draco.”   
He shrugged.   
“Grew up together. They’re family. Brainless, useless family that you can’t stand, but can’t get rid of.”   
“I have a couple of ex-stepfathers like that. Doesn’t mean I opt to spend time with them.”   
“You’ve had every kind of stepfather it’s possible to have, Blaise. And they’re all brainless.”   
“Agreed. Now can we talk about you not taking care of yourself?”  
It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes.  
“I’m fine, Blaise. I haven’t been sleeping as well as I used to, but what do you expect with my father in Azkaban and my mother all alone with… I mean, in that big house by herself.”  
Blaise gave his friend a moment to add something closer to the truth, but Draco wasn’t budging. Malfoys were stubborn, if nothing else.   
“You have to at least eat properly then. Black coffee and apples isn’t going to sustain you forever.”   
“Do you not see me eating right now, Blaise? I’m just stressed, and I would be a lot less stressed if my best friend would stop fucking bugging me everyday.”   
He had caught sight of Hermione, leaning into the Weasel, as she showed him something in the paper. It was infuriating to look at.   
Beside him, Blaise just sighed, dumped another egg onto Draco’s plate, and went back to brooding over his pumpkin juice. 

 

A few hours later, Draco was making his way back from the Hogsmeade Owlery, having lost Blaise and Pansy to Madam Puddifoot’s almost half an hour ago. Since Draco had lost all interest in being with her, Pansy had taken to throwing herself at Blaise in order to make him jealous. Blaise was happy for her to use him, if there was a chance for him to get his dick wet he wasn’t going to pass it up. Unfortunately for Pansy, Draco had absolutely zero interest in getting back together with her. The change had come over suddenly, that first week he hadn’t minded her simpering and flirting, and then the next week he simply couldn’t stand it. He hadn’t even been sorry when he told her it was over, her wide, teary eyes had no effect on him. It even made it easier to work on his task of fixing the cabinet, without her hovering around him, although that was still looking pretty hopeless. 

He flicked his left wrist. His dark mark still emitted a little sting every now and then. He barely noticed it as he strolled the frosty streets, trying to figure out a way to kill Dumbledore, without actually being the one to kill Dumbledore. His right hand was buried deep in his pockets, holding tight to the precious cargo there. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to get the necklace delivered to his target. Just getting it to Hogsmeade had been tricky enough. He shivered as he completed his loop of the village, it really was getting cold outside. He made a beeline for the Three Broomsticks, thinking that everything seemed less miserable with a steaming tankard of Butterbeer. When he got inside, the pub was as crowded and busy as ever, and he had made his way to the bar to order when he got another whiff of honey. He jerked his head around, searching for the source of the scent, but there were so many people in the pub that locating it was nigh on impossible. He settled for closing his eyes and taking a deep, nourishing breath of the beautiful smell. He had found over the few weeks since he first encountered it, that it was deeply comforting for him, and produced a strong feeling of contentment. It was a scent he could dive into and live in, happy to drown in its intoxicating sweetness. So distracted was he, that he was startled by Madam Rosmerta’s sharp reprimand.   
“This isn’t a public square, Malfoy. Are you going to buy something?”  
He snapped his eyes open, his face immediately assuming its’ habitual sneer. Rosmerta hadn’t liked him since first year, but she never let her personal preferences, or anyone else’s, get in the way of making a profit. Hers was the busiest pub in the village, everyone who on their way to or from Hogwarts stopped in to have a drink, regardless of their background, position, or any inter-house rivalries. In fact, she was a very useful ally to have, and no sooner had he realized this, than an idea was forming in Draco’s brain.   
“Of course, Madam.” Draco crooned, turning on whatever charm he could muster. He was surprised when Rosmerta looked a little stunned, her expression towards him unusually warm.   
“I’d like a.. cherry soda, with lime.”   
She blinked at him, and started to frown in confusion.   
“You want a cold drink? In October?”   
He smiled at her, slowly.   
“Yep. Don’t forget the little umbrella.”   
She blinked once more, before nodding, and turning around to head out the back. Cherry syrup was a summer drink, and she would have to rummage through the back storage section to find it. Draco knew this, and once she had descended the stairs leading to her cellar, he discreetly followed her. She had her back to him, moving boxes around on a shelf at waist height. She didn’t notice him behind her, until his non-verbal expelliarmus sent her wand flying into his outstretched hand. She turned, and leaned her back against the shelves, hand pressed to her chest in shock.   
“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing down here?”   
“What needs to be done, Rosmerta.”  
She eyed him warily, seeming frustrated as he stepped closer to her, closing off the only exit and her only chance at getting away without a wand.   
“You still have the trace on you, whatever you do, they’ll know that you did it.” She snarled at him, she seemed more angry than scared at having two wands aimed at her.   
“Ah, but you see, there’s at least 50 students right above our heads, so they can’t be sure that it was me performing underage magic. Especially if I don’t use my own wand.” He countered, as he twirled her wand around his fingers. Her shoulders sagged, but her expression was still indignant.   
“Now, hold still, and I won’t have to hurt you.” He told her, as his dark mark began stinging madly. She trembled before him, but never lost the angry defiance in her eyes. He found it difficult to breathe, she reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite think who. He gathered his breath, his strength, and tried to stop his arm from shaking. 

“Imperio!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone for leaving comments and kudos! I've been thinking about this story for ages, so it's a lot fun to actually write it, and seeing that other people are enjoying it is so encouraging.
> 
> Anyway, sorry to give you a chapter with no real Draco/Hermione interaction... but I love a good slow burn so hopefully you guys will too. 
> 
> As always, I hope you like it, and thank you for reading. 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, also, apparently the cherry syrup and soda is actually a Three Broomsticks menu item, and is one of Flitwick's favourites. The more you know.


	6. Chapter 6

Katie fucking Bell. He couldn’t believe that stupid bartender chose Katie fucking Bell to deliver the package to Dumbledore. Potter was right fucking there! He would have been perfect! No one would suspect Potter would do anything underhand, especially not to his favourite old windbag Dumbledore. But no, Rosmerta had to do a shitty imperio job on Katie fucking Bell, and now he was back to square one, only with an even more suspicious Potter watching his every damn move. It had already been a week or two but Draco was still furious about it, especially since progress with the cabinet was still slow going. It was starting to give off signals of the presence of magic within the cabinet, but they were weak, and definitely not enough to allay Draco’s fears. He would have to return home for the winter break soon, and the Dark Lord would surely want to know why Dumbledore was still alive. Truly, he wanted to stay at the school for the break, the idea of going home was so unappealing he would rather the whole manor burned down than spend any more time there watching death eaters disrespect his ancestral home. They were already bringing home random mudbloods and torturing them to death, he could only imagine what the nearest muggle village thought was going on. The only thing he was looking forward to was seeing his mother, he couldn’t leave her alone with those animals if he could help it. Still, he wasn’t looking forward to answering for how his mission was progressing, and how else he was spending his time at school. He could barely motivate himself to go to class right now, but at least History of Magic required little to no input from him. He could just sit, stare at his desk, and wonder why the fates hated him. He took his seat next to Blaise just as Professor Binns drifted into the classroom through the blackboard, and settled in for a long hour of boredom.

“Today we will begin the discussion of the history of magical creatures and their interaction with the wizarding community, and the various laws and by-laws and registers related to them, and of course the history, related to these laws and by-laws and, er, registers.” Began the professor, positioning himself in his armchair.  
A subtle groan travelled around the classroom like a Mexican wave, as students settled themselves into their most comfortable positions. Pansy had her head precariously balanced on her hand, making her look half attentive, while Blaise made no attempt to hide his slumber by placing his head down on his folded arms on the desk.  
“In past years,” continued the Professor, “we have discussed the history of various non-humanoid creatures, such as goblins, house elves, dragons, unicorns, leprechauns…” Draco’s eyes were already beginning to droop as the professor recited the many creatures they had already suffered through studying. He was barely listening as Binns listed the creatures they would be studying this semester, as he noticed Granger sitting unusually still across the room. She wasn’t scribbling furiously as she usually did, but was tapping her quill on the edge of a small sheet of parchment. A small sheet of parchment with… his handwriting on it. Well, it was too far to be sure, but he could see the pattern of two different styles of handwriting, sloping and curving across the page. He knew that piece of parchment. He didn’t need to see it properly to recognize it. He reached into his pocket, and retrieved his own small piece of parchment. He had been carrying it around with him since their last interaction, carefully folded, rarely opened. He didn’t feel safe leaving it in his dorm room, it was too damning should someone find it, and Slytherins would not be above manipulating him with it. But he also couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Apparently, neither could she. Glancing around, he carefully unfolded it, to see the last communication he had had with Granger. 

_Magic doesn’t discriminate between mudbloods and purebloods, Draco… and neither should you._

He looked back at her, she was taking notes now, but their shared parchment was still on her desk, just off to the side. Her hair was falling in her face, she kept pushing it up and away, and a single curl would slowly creep it’s way back down, eventually falling to cover her eyes.  
“Centaurs are thought to have originated in the Mediterranean, the earliest references to their existence being found in Ancient Greek mythology…”  
Draco couldn’t even begin to focus on Professor Binns’ lecture about the origins of centaurs, he was too caught up in watching that stubborn curl slide down, only to be pushed back again. He couldn’t help himself. 

Hermione was drawn out of her note-making when the small piece of parchment next to her was suddenly wiped blank. She frowned, looking up to Draco, whose head was down as he wrote.  
_Ever considered a hair tie, Granger?_  
Her eyes rolled.  
_Ever considered a lobotomy, Malfoy?_  
_Only whenever Weasel is around._  
_Oh please, you spend half your time with Crabbe and Goyle, you must be immune to idiocy by now._  
_So you agree he’s an idiot._  
_I didn’t say that. Ron is very clever, just not particularly academic._  
_Granger, that's what people say when someone is an idiot and they just don't want to admit it. I bet he has 'other skills' and 'a great personality' too._  
_He does have both those things, not that you would know what a great personality is._  
_He’s a simpleton and you know it Granger._  
He could see her hackles coming up from across the room.  
_I bet he can't even read properly._  
He was goading her now, trying to provoke her. Based on her clenched jaw, it was working.  
_I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Malfoy, but I’m not interested in arguing with you when I should be taking notes. Leave me alone._  
_So you would be interested in arguing with me outside of class then?_  
“Ugh.” She groaned. She tried getting back to her work. But he liked annoying her.  
_Why didn't you throw this away?_  
She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.  
_Why didn't you?_  
She needed to learn how to lie.  
_You never know when a direct line to the biggest swot in the whole school will come in handy. What if I need help with my homework?_  
_Like I'd help you._  
_Of course you would, your bleeding heart wouldn't let you rest if you knew someone needed help._  
_If you were paying attention right now instead of annoying me, you wouldn't need help._  
_I didn't say I needed help, Granger. Just that you would give it if I did._  
_If you don't need help, you won't need this parchment anymore. Now leave me alone and go to sleep like the rest of the snake pit._  


Sure enough, when he looked around, the entire Slytherin contingent was blissfully asleep, missing Professor Binns' diatribe on the difference between the 1625 Centaur Proliferation Restriction and the 1628 Centaur Procreation Registration. Well, there was no way he was listening to that.  


_They were pureblood invention, you know._  
 _..what?_  
 _Lobotomies. An old pureblooded wizard thought he had found the source of magical power in the brain. He wanted to remove magic from mudbloods, he thought if he could eliminate magic whenever it popped up in places it didn’t belong, he could keep the bloodlines pure._  
Hermione looked stunned across the room. He felt a warped sense of pride in knowing something she didn’t.  
 _That’s disgusting, Malfoy._  
 _I’m just telling you some wizard history, Granger, I thought you wanted to learn._  
 _I do want to learn. Just not from you._  
 _You’d rather listen to the professor who literally bored himself to death?_  
 _I’d rather listen to a harpy sing a duet with a mandrake than hear anything you have to say._  
He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. If there was one good thing about her, and he was pretty sure there was only one good thing, she was clever enough to keep up with his banter.  
 _Well, since that’s about as likely as Weasley coming first in the NEWTs, it looks like you’re stuck with me._  
 _Back to teasing Ron again. Why do you hate him so much?_  
He could already feel the tension building in him, he never liked Weasley but this year he really hated him. Damn muggle-loving blood traitor.  
 _You mean aside from the obvious?_  
 _Obvious?_  
 _He’s a prat, Granger. A dim-witted, freckled slob._  
 _But you hated him before you even met him. I remember first year, you told Harry not to be friends with him because of his family._  
He sighed. She just didn’t get it. Stupid muggle.  
 _He’s a Weasley, I’m a Malfoy. We’re natural enemies. Always have been, always will be._  
She paused, and looked up to meet Draco’s eyes. She studied him for a moment, before shaking her head, and pointedly turning back to her class notes. Draco slumped in his chair, he was disappointed, somehow. He passed another few minutes staring at her messy, yet elegant script, reading over and over her feisty quips, when he noticed a new line appearing.  


_You don’t have to be._  


He blinked at the page.. what was she doing? He was enjoying teasing her, the playful back and forth between them made an otherwise incredibly dull lesson pass quickly. Now she had to go and ruin it by being a damn Gryffindor. The effect was like a cold shower, slamming him back into a reality where he and Granger were not friends. Where he would, sooner or later, become a murderer. Where they would one day stand across from each other, a whole battlefield and a whole world between them.  
He didn’t reply, and stared at his hands for the rest of the class. Though he was silent, inside his mind, something, someone, was screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like if there was no blood status prejudice to impede him, Draco would definitely be the type to pick on the girl that he likes. Not in an especially nasty way, just that annoying way that teenage boys do because they're idiots that don't know how to not be idiots. Which is what he's doing here, he's just annoying her because he gets a kick out of it, but he still thinks he's doing it because he doesn't like her...  
> Anyway, I hope you liked it, and thank you for reading. 
> 
> P.S. In my experience, guys never grow out of this phase, they are professional irritants.


	7. Chapter 7

What began as a headache had evolved into a full-blown migraine. Well, Blaise had told him that he was just being dramatic as per usual, but Draco had chosen to ignore him and wallow in self-pity. The ringing noise in his head had been going on for days, and while it did seem to come and go, he was definitely beginning to lose his mind. He couldn’t concentrate in class. He couldn’t handle the intense noise of the Great Hall and so had been missing meals. And he’d done almost no work on the cabinet. This last troubled him most of all. As he lay in his four-poster bed, listening to the dulcet snores of his dorm mates, Draco felt a kind of itching inside his skin. He was still reeling from the incredible failure of the enchanted necklace, and Katie fucking Bell, and as he contemplated failing again he felt like the walls were pressing in on him. He could put up a brave front to his classmates, but Christmas was coming up. He would soon be back at home, with his mother, and with the dark guest that was controlling his childhood home. Draco sat bolt upright in his bed as waves of nausea and panic crashed into him. He had to get up. To get out of this room, where his classmates were dreaming of quidditch and their stupid crushes, while he was living a fucking nightmare. 

He was half way to the library before he realized he was going there. He tried to rationalize it as the smart thing to do, to utilize this time when nobody was around to search once again for information about vanishing cabinets. But really, there was something comforting about the thought of all those silent books, that labyrinth of information stored and coded and ordered in a quiet, timeless way. It was everything he wasn’t at the moment. It was calm. It was stable. And he was being drawn towards it. He crept through the empty passageways, stifling the chill that threatened to seep through him. Winter was not far away now, and the cold was beginning to settle into the walls. He eventually reached the last corner before the library when he stopped dead in his tracks, as he noticed a dim light emanating from where the library doors were. Either a teacher was there, for whatever reason, or some student was stupid enough to use the light of their wand when they were sneaking around at night. It never occurred to him that others were not as comfortable in the darkness as he was. Steadying himself so that his movements were silent, he slowly leant around the corner to peek at the library doors. He stifled a laugh at the sight of that bushy head of hair he knew so well, slipping quickly inside and out of sight. Who else did he really expect would sneak out of bed just to come to the library. Only the world’s biggest swot. And him, apparently. He wondered whether he should turn around, after all, he couldn’t do any research with her there, and who knows how long she could spend in what was basically her paradise. But he was curious, suddenly insatiably curious, to know what in the world she was up to. He was walking up to the doors before he had even finished making his decision. What was important enough for the princess to break the rules? 

At first, he couldn’t see the light of her wand amid the cavernous shelves that stretched before him. He had stepped into the main atrium of the library, where there were enormous tables set up so that students could study together, warmed by the fireplaces on either side of the entrance. Behind the tables, were the endless rows of books. A huge window was set between each aisle, creating shafts of pale light that alternated with intense darkness, patterning off indefinitely to either side. He knew that to his right were other study areas and reading nooks, and to his left was Madam Pince’s office, and the restricted section. Surely, Granger wouldn’t sneak out of the Gryffindor tower in the middle of the night just to find a cosy spot to read. He turned to his left, and slowly, quietly, made his way to the restricted section. Either he would find out what nefarious behavior the clever Gryffindor was up to, or she would be doing something completely boring in another part of the library and he would be able to research vanishing cabinets undisturbed. A whispered alohomora let him into the restricted section, his white hands shining in the moonlight as he carefully closed the door behind him. 

He proceeded very cautiously, stopping at the end of each row to listen to whether it was occupied. He passed six rows before he heard her. She was only turning pages in a book, but it was enough. He stood still, wondering what he should do now. Should he confront her? Maybe she was doing something for the Order. If he learned of plans against the Dark Lord, maybe he could win favour with his terrible master. He looked up at the sign which indicated the contents of the books in this row. He squinted in the darkness, but all he could make out was history, and blood theory. Blood theory? What in the world was that and what was the muggle-born Granger doing researching it? 

“Doing a little extracurricular reading are we, Granger?”  
She squealed and jumped, as she turned, wide-eyed and breathing heavily in her fright. The sight of her parted lips and her chest heaving up and down made his stomach clench, and he was uncomfortably familiar with the sensation it was arousing, but it had never been in relation to her.   
“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”  
“I couldn’t sleep. I was wandering the halls when I saw a light disappear in the library. Thought I should investigate, being a prefect and all.” He said with a laugh in his voice. He had been severely lax in his prefect duties this year. In fact until now, he hadn’t even thought about them.   
“I don’t believe for a moment that you had any good intentions in following me in here, Malfoy, so you can drop the act.”  
Her words cut him, for reasons he could not understand.   
“Is it so hard to believe that I can be good, Granger?”  
She weighed him up for a moment before she answered.   
“I would like to believe that you can be good. That some part of you, is good. But yes.. it is hard.”   
He had no answer for that. The truth was that he had been slowly poisoned his whole life, slowly molded into this instrument of hate, and though he was starting to realize it now, there was nothing he could do to change it.   
“What are you doing here, Granger?” he asked, tired.   
“Reading.”   
“You couldn’t find anything more lighthearted for your bedtime reading material?”  
“Sometimes the darkness makes the light more beautiful.”  
“Goddamn it Granger. Do you always have to be so infuriatingly wholesome?”  
“No, it rises to meet you being plain infuriating.”  
He growled in frustration and she moved her hand fractionally closer to the wand sticking out of her pocket.   
“Are you going to curse me, Princess?”  
“That depends.” She leveled him with a look and he felt the tightness in his stomach turn to cement. “Did you curse Katie Bell?”  
He stared at her blankly, his cultivated façade serving him well as he panicked behind it. But he answered her truthfully.   
“No.”   
She kept eyeing him and he felt her suspicion like razor blades on his skin. He hadn’t cursed Katie, but he was the reason she was in St Mungo’s now, alternating between screaming herself hoarse and lying catatonic, staring into the void. But Hermione couldn’t know that. The silence stretched between them until she relaxed her posture, slightly, her hand moving further from her wand.  
“I believe you.” She breathed. The flood of relief that coursed through him was expected, but the happiness that she didn’t think he was quite so evil, that was not.   
"Malfoy.."  
"Yes?"  
"Do you know anything about the Half-Blood Prince?"   
He was confused about her abrupt change of topic, not to mention her ridiculous question. What the fuck was she doing here?  
“Why are you here, Granger?” He tried to inject some metal into his voice, but it just came out flat.   
“Researching blood theory. I.. I want to understand where all this pureblood, mudblood, blood traitor bullshit came from.”   
“Why would you, of all people, want to understand blood theory, Granger? If you know it’s bullshit then why not just ignore it like you’ve always done?”   
She gave him a queer look at that, but he couldn’t figure out why.   
“I know it’s bullshit, but a lot of people believe it. That’s why there’s a war brewing, that’s why there are people out there attacking muggles and muggleborns. But maybe if there’s some flaw in the whole theory, something that I can show people, maybe I can change their minds.”  
He sighed. She was so pure. One day it was going to get squashed out of her like an insect underfoot.   
“People don’t want to have their minds changed, Granger. They want to believe that they are better than others, that they are special. They don’t care if it’s not true.”   
“Do you believe it?”   
Here they were, again. And again, he didn’t know his answer. Things had seemed so black and white not long ago, but now the world was a beautiful mess of people, and he couldn’t say that one shade was better than the rest.   
“I would like to believe it,” He whispered, chancing a look up at her. “But it’s hard.”   
He saw the sadness, pity, and longing in her face, and he knew it was echoed in his. Through the window behind her the first light of day was just starting to stain the sky, and as the cool light warmed on her skin, it struck him that she was beautiful.   
“I have to go.” He murmured, taking her in for one more second, before he turned away from her.   
“Wait!” she called. He paused, and slowly turned around to find she had come up behind him and was now standing so close he could reach out and-  
“Do you still have that bit of parchment?” she asked.   
Draco blinked, his train of thought had nearly derailed there for a second.   
“Uh, yeah.. yes.”   
She pressed a book to his chest, and he felt her fingertips burn him.   
“Let me know what you think of it.” She said to him, fixing him with a determined look that allowed no argument, before she swept past him and out of the aisle. He stood frozen and just breathed, listening to her footsteps fade and the door to the restricted section close before he looked at the book she had given him. He wondered absently when the ringing in his head had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our two little lovebirds are back at it again! I haven't posted for a few weeks, so I'm sorry if anyone was waiting to see what happened next.. hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter!  
> As always, thank you for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

The History of Pureblood Supremacy by Brutus Malfoy did not make for pleasant reading. Draco had taken advantage of the lunch break to seclude himself in his dorm room and have a look at Grangers’ book, and after just a few sentences, he was already feeling a tinge of shame that this author was his distant grandfather. Draco had heard about his ancestor, of course, the man was responsible for spreading anti-muggle sentiment in the 17th century with his highly influential periodical Warlock at War. He was most well known for coining the term ‘blood-traitor’. Lucius had told a young Draco all about his great grandfather’s achievements, but he had never actually read the mans’ writing, although Draco was sure this book would be somewhere in the library in his ancestral home. It was nothing he hadn’t heard said before really, but somehow reading in print made it seem rather more.. distasteful. 

_‘Many in our community, even the great Merlin himself, proposed that we live in harmony with muggles, and use our magic not in an offensive manner towards them, but in such a way that we might help them and improve their mundane lives. However I dare say that were Merlin alive today, he would admit to being severely misguided in giving these recommendations. Muggles have been persecuting wizards and witches for centuries, burning us at the stake, parading us in front of our communities as demons, evil spirits, whatever their puny minds can conjure up for censure. They accuse us of evil doing, and yet they are the ones who make orphans of our children, who brand us and burn us and bleed us beyond death. In this way, the muggle shows himself to be incapable of recognizing true evil, for surely he would see it within himself. Furthermore, it shows him to be possessed of limited capacity for understanding and empathy, the hallmarks of higher beings. Muggles simply do not possess the intellect of wizarding kind; they are a lesser species of human. They are wicked, brainless, disgusting creatures who fear what they cannot understand. It is vital for the continuation of the wizarding community as it stands, that we cut all ties with these animals, that we distance ourselves lest their debauchery infect our civil society. First and foremost in this endeavor, and this is of utmost import, we must cease all intermarriage between wizard and muggle kinds. Not only is this a disgusting practice, which must yield no satisfaction for the poor magical participant, but it is a dangerous affront to the security of magical blood. There are few these days who can claim a pure magical bloodline for more than a few generations, many have had their magic besmirched by the intermingling of muggles with their pure-blooded ancestors. At best, this is a dilution of the pure flow of magic which passes from wizarding kind to their children. At worst, it is a slow moving poison, befouling our most noble bloodlines and forever destroying our pursuit of magical excellence. That we are still possessed of magic today is a testament to our hardiness in overcoming muggle contamination. But it must not continue. Muggles must not be allowed access to the wizarding community, they must not be allowed to spread their ignorance and filthy habits, which are like a disease which must be eradicated. If we cannot separate ourselves from them, then our only option to maintain the dignity of our bloodlines is to wage war on the muggles, to send their species to the annals of history, and claim for ourselves the supremacy which our magic, by its own existence, means we deserve.’ ___

____

Draco shivered. One page in and the guy was proposing mass genocide. No wonder he had never heard of this book. While his family and other purebloods made no secret of their hatred for muggles, openly calling for their extermination would surely cause a few upsets at the ministry. And Lucius definitely knew that what wasn’t said was just as important as what was. The funny part was, if Draco had read this a few years ago, he probably would have agreed with it. At least, the first part wasn’t so inflammatory. Wizards really had been persecuted for years, thousands of witches had been burnt at the stake, their children branded, their homes turned inside out. Even though a skilled wizard could avoid death by the flames if he managed to perform a protection charm, he still had to pack up and move out before his accusers could discover he had survived. The muggles really did make the world an unsafe, hellish landscape for the witches and wizards of history. But did that make them evil?  
Draco lay the book flat against his chest, and propped his head up with his hand, frowning as he considered it.  
“Perhaps the muggles weren’t evil, just scared.” He mumbled to himself. Brutus was right, they didn’t understand what was going on. They didn’t know that magic could be used for good. And this was before the statute of secrecy, so wizards were probably performing magic on muggles without any rules, and without any repercussions. What if a witch slipped a love potion to a man in her village, how was he supposed to react when it wore off? Or what if a magical child threw a tantrum, and managed to crack every glass in town with his screams? What would they make of a body, lifeless, face frozen in an expression of terror, with no cuts or wounds or anything that could indicate how they had died? How would they explain these obviously dangerous acts, without concluding that it was some force of magic, and that said magic must be evil to be capable of such things. They wouldn’t see the good that magic could do, unless it was shown to them. And if people were likely to be burnt for performing magic, it was probably not a great idea even to use healing spells around a terrified muggle.  
Draco picked up the book to look at its cover, his brow furrowing as he ran his fingers over the name of his ancestor. Brutus Malfoy. Such a fitting name for such a rough, angry person.  
Why was Granger reading this trash? What did she say last night? Half-Blood Prince? She had to know that there was no royalty in the wizarding community. What was she doing in the middle of the night, looking at the deranged ramblings of his own ancestors? The thought of her reading this, of her knowing that he was related to this person, made his stomach turn. He didn’t have long to wonder whether he would actually vomit before the curtain around his bed was ripped open. 

“Draco! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where the fuck have you been?” an agitated Blaise snapped at him. He looked up at his friend, confused. Had they made plans he had forgotten about?  
“I’m just resting my fucking eyes while Crabbe and Goyle aren’t here to deafen me with their snoring. What’s your problem, Blaise?”  
“My problem is that we have a fucking potions practical together next period, and I’ve been trying to find you so that we can go over what we have to do and my marks don’t get derailed by you skipping class. Again.”  
Fuck. He had headed straight back to his dorm during their lunch period to have a nap. He hadn’t even planned on going back to class, if he was honest with himself. His early morning rendezvous with Granger meant he had already been up for too many hours and he was exhausted. Now he had to go and do a goddamn potions practical exam. He groaned as he rubbed his tired eyes.  
“Alright.” He said to Blaise. “I’m coming. Give me one sec.”  
“Draco if you start redoing your hair we are going to be late. Just go as you are.” Blaise replied to him as Draco dragged himself off the bed and moved towards the bathroom at the end of the dorm.  
“Fuck off, Blaise.” He barked as he slammed the bathroom door.  
His hair did look awful though. He needed to get it cut, but he’d been so distracted lately. This new shorter hair do he was going for this year was easier day-to-day, but fuck, the maintenance was a bitch. He didn’t even bother with the hair, just splashed his face with ice cold water, snapping his brain back into focus. He took a second to lean over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror as he readied himself to face the world again. A thought occurred to him as he scanned his face. Granger would be in potions. Granger would be there. Granger. For a few seconds, as he stared into his own reflection, he could have sworn his eyes changed, darkened, widened, before Blaise yelled something about Merlin’s hairy balls and Draco had to drag himself away, muttering a quip about Blaise’s interest in the old man’s genitalia as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well aren't I just on a roll here. This is probably the end of said roll for a little while to be honest but I wanted to get the book thing worked out before I forgot where I was going with it... Because I know myself and that was highly likely. 
> 
> Also, Brutus Malfoy was a real* dude according to Pottermore, who really did have an anti-muggle periodical in the 17th century. So that was convenient for the story. Thank god for Pottermore. 
> 
> As always I hope you like the update, and thank you for reading. 
> 
>  
> 
> *As real as a fictional wizard in a fictional fantasy universe can be.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco was fuming. Potter had produced yet another near perfect potion, despite being partnered with Weasley. Even though half the Slytherins had achieved the same result, the old slug only had eyes for the fucking chosen one. He was practically swooning over Potter, calling him a prodigy, which Scarhead accepted rather awkwardly, clutching his ratty potions text book and blushing under the jet black mess of curls he called hair. Draco looked away in disgust, and found his eyes drifting once again to the bench just a few feet away, where another Gryffindor shared his obvious resentment for Potter. Granger was sitting there, arms crossed over her chest, and glaring at her best friend. The effect was strangely cute on her, with her lips pursed and her eyes scrunched in frustration. Strange, he thought, that she was annoyed at her friend for doing well. Shouldn’t she be happy for Saint Potty, that he was excelling in class and no longer reliant on her genius to help him scrape a passing mark? Maybe she was worried he would knock her out of the top spot in class, which she had only recently won from Draco himself. But she wasn’t that petty, Draco thought, as he mindlessly began gathering his things, never taking his eyes off of her. She was kind, hard working, generous with her friends. Disgustingly Gryffindor. She would be happy for Potter to be doing so well in class. She should be happy. But judging by the scowl on her face as she threw her potions book back into her bag, she wasn’t. 

“Before you all go, I’d just like to make a little announcement, if I may.” Professor Slughorn’s infuriating voice broke through his concentration on Granger’s pursed little lips. The class stilled to listen to their Professor as he waddled to the front of the room, clasping his hands and smiling inanely at them.   
“Before my retirement many years ago, it was a tradition of mine to hold a Christmas party of sorts, at the end of the term. Just an intimate little soiree, with a few of my close friends from various fields, former students, and of course a select few current students that I like to think I’ve taken under my wing.” He beamed at Potter, and Draco scoffed at the man’s lack of subtlety.   
“Now, what I need, is a few volunteers to help with serving the food and drinks at the party. I would ask the house elves but the Headmaster is, ah, reluctant to have them take on extra duties these days, what with their movement towards paid work and all that.”   
Hermione’s frown transformed into a triumphant smile at that, and Draco found himself somehow enchanted by it. Of course she would be pleased, it was her stupid movement that saw the house elves begin wearing clothes and asking to be paid. Most still resisted, seeing it as an abomination, but he had snuck into the kitchens enough times to see his old house elf – Dotty? Donny? – proudly wearing her hand knitted scarves and socks and beanies, several of each at once in fact.   
“So, if anyone would like to participate, I would be more than happy to consider it a sort of, ah, extra credit, shall we say? Anyone interested should approach me after class.” Having finished his announcement, Slughorn clapped his hands together, bouncing on his heels. “Excellent work today students, I really think some of you are showing a real knack for potion making, and that can take you far, yes far indeed.” He shot an adoring look at Potter, and Draco rolled his eyes as he swept out of the class. 

“Well that was fucking painful.” Blaise said as he began walking beside Draco.   
“I can’t believe you dragged me out of bed for that shit.” Draco grumbled.  
“At least you got an alright grade, considering you’ve done practically no work all term.”   
“Yes, because I don’t care about schoolwork right now, Blaise. How is a plant regenerating potion going to help me in the real world?”   
“I bet your mother would like it, her rose garden is legendary.”  
“Yeah, but how long will that last?” Draco added, his tone gloomy. Blaise shot him a look, but made no reply. They both knew it was only a matter of time before thorns overran roses.   
They were walking to their next class, Defence Against the Dark Arts with Snape, shared once again with the Gryffindors. Draco wondered which genius saw fit to put the two houses that hated each other most into a classroom where they would be required to practice offensive and defensive spells. Seemed like a recipe for disaster, but so far they had managed to avoid any catastrophic injuries. There was only the occasional bruise or burnt off eyebrows, although the last was mostly Finnigan, and it was mostly self-inflicted. As they traipsed through the corridors, Draco noticed a muttered argument happening somewhere around him. He glanced surreptitiously behind him, and spotted Granger, Potter, and Weasel, huddled close together and whispering fervently. Granger was still sporting her frustrated frown from earlier, while the other two looked exasperated. He turned away before they noticed him, but tried to focus his hearing on their furious whispers.   
“…just saying that it’s dangerous to try out spells when you don’t even know what they’re for! They could be harmless, but maybe not and you just don’t know-”  
“Hermione, just because someone made it up doesn’t mean it’s evil.” Potter interrupted her, which bugged Draco. “All spells had to have been invented by someone at one time or another, and most spells are completely harmless! It’s probably just a cleaning spell or a funny jinx, makes people itchy or gives them a nosebleed. You’re overreacting.”   
“It’s not overreacting to be cautious about an unknown spell that was made up by some mystery prince that no one has ever heard of.”  
“Yes, but how dangerous can it be if he scribbled it willy nilly in a potions book?” Countered Weasel, which also bugged Draco, but that was a standard response to the redhead just being there. Hermione huffed, and Draco was struck by the fact that he could hear it, even though she was a few metres behind him.   
“I just think you ought to be careful, and not use any of these spells before you know they’re safe, Harry. Maybe you could ask Dumbledore next time you-”   
“I’m definitely not going to ask Dumbledore about it, besides, he’s got more important things going on than trying to work out who vandalized an old potions text book.”   
“Draco!” Blaise snapped, startling him out of his focus.   
“For fuck’s sake Blaise, what?” Draco rounded on his best friend, with accusing eyes.   
“You’re going the wrong way, dickhead. Snape’s waiting for you up on the third floor, and I bet he misses his favourite little teacher’s pet.”  
Draco had been so absorbed in the Golden Trio’s conversation, he had been about to take the staircase to the Slytherin dormitory, instead of the one leading up out of the dungeons to where the Defence Against the Dark Arts classrooms were. It was fucking Potter’s fault, he thought, for distracting him. As he turned away from the staircase, the Golden trio finally caught up to them, the two boys embroiled in a different conversation by now, leaving a sulky Granger walking beside them, closest to Draco. He stopped to let them pass, watching her closely, her jaw clenched and arms folded over the book at her chest. He caught a waft of some sweet scent as she passed, it shuddered through him and reverberated back in his mind, there was something about that scent, something important, some memory he couldn’t place. He didn’t have long to dwell on it though, it was never a good idea to keep Snape waiting, even if the old man did have a soft spot for Draco. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway, there was no room for sweetness in the Dark Lord’s world. 

Defence Against the Dark Arts went about as well as could be expected. Longbottom failed to execute the immobilizing sonar charm, which produced a whistle at such high pitch that the opponent was incapacitated upon hearing it, while Granger had half the room clutching their ears on her second attempt. Draco could perform the charm non-verbally by the end of class, although Snape was keeping an uncomfortably close eye on him the whole time, and Finnigan aimed his charm at the glass windows, causing them to shatter, which seemed close enough to an explosion to be on theme for him. Snape apparently took that as a sign to end the class, leaving the Gryffindor boy to collect the shards of glass and sweeping out of the room as the rest of the students packed their things. Draco was grateful for the early dismissal, he seemed more susceptible to the effects of the charm than the other students. The resulting headache was making it hard for him just to focus, he felt like his brain was being sawn in half. Even the sounds of chairs scraping across the floors as the class put the room back in order was grating on his brain, and when Blaise clapped a hand on his shoulder, Draco nearly buckled under it.   
“You alright mate? You look a little woozy. Most unbecoming for a Malfoy.”   
“Headache.” Was all he muttered, watching Granger perform a spell to return all the chunks of glass back to the windows while a stunned Finnegan looked on in appreciation. Blaise followed Draco’s gaze, and snorted.   
“What, the guy can cause absolutely everything to explode but he doesn’t know how to perform a simple repairing charm?”  
“I know, right.” Replied Draco, wondering why Finnegan’s easy hug of thanks with Granger made his headache worse. “Fucking useless wanker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't written anything in a while... but I'm back now! Sorry to anyone following the story, I'm working on the next chapter as I'm posting this so hopefully it won't be such a long break in between the chapters next time. Anyway enjoy, and thankyou for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

He was standing on a tall tower, darkness surrounded the wide round room, but he could feel the icy breeze sliding through his hair, rippling down his spine. He was waiting for something. The wind whistled through distant trees, and he gripped his wand tighter. He turned to watch a snow-white owl glide past, it’s wings lit up by the moonlight.  
“What a pleasant surprise, Mr Malfoy.”  
He turned, and found a smiling Dumbledore standing behind him. The tip of his long beard was swaying in the breeze, and his bright eyes were twinkling like stars. How could the old man be so enigmatic, how could he fill a whole room, with just the hint of a smile? Draco rolled his shoulders, they felt stiff and uncomfortable.  
“You mean you haven’t been expecting me?” He replied.  
The old man smiled indulgently.  
“I didn’t expect it to be like this.”  
Draco frowned. What did that mean?  
“I suppose you’re going to offer me a way out then.”  
Dumbledore simply sighed, his smile faltering to show a deep weariness for just a moment.  
“No, Draco. There is no way out.” He said, and Draco felt a great weight settle in him. Some part of him, he realized, had been holding out hope that there would be some loophole, some way to get away from it all, to get his mother out, to be safe. But he hadn’t thought of anything yet, and he would most likely run out of time before he did. He simply closed his eyes and felt the breeze in his hair, he imagined that it was his mother’s caressing fingers, smoothing away his frowns, his cries. When he reopened his eyes, Dumbledore was still there, although he was looking away, out into the dark abyss. Draco followed his gaze, and saw the same beautiful white owl gliding through the black skies. As he watched, the owl twirled, dipping and swooping up again, soaring away from the tower.  
“Incredible creatures, aren’t they?” Dumbledore’s voice was light.  
“What, owls?” Asked Draco, confused.  
“No,” Dumbledore looked back at him with intense blue eyes. “Not owls.”  
Draco raised his wand at the older wizard, but before he could settle the roiling nausea in his stomach and utter the cursed words, he was jolting awake in his dormitory bed. The room was dark, his bed was warm, and he could feel the pull to go back to sleep, but for some reason he felt wide awake. He didn’t dream much these days, unless they were nightmares about being tortured by a homicidal maniac, so this dream had definitely been different. Had Dumbledore somehow known that it was Draco’s task to kill him? It certainly seemed that way. Draco’s breath hitched as he wondered, did Dumbledore know in real life?  
“Impossible.” He mumbled to himself as he snuggled back down in the blankets. The old man was full of secrets, but there was no way he could know about the Dark Lord’s plans. Only a handful of people had been told, every one of them unquestionably loyal to the Dark Lord. Besides, if he knew Draco was going to try to kill him, why let him come back to Hogwarts? Why not send him home? Have the order arrest him and put him on trial for being a deatheater? Why would Dumbledore let him stay at Hogwarts, where he could be dangerous? No, the old kook didn’t know anything. He closed his eyes, and had barely fallen asleep again before the fireplace roared to life, and the curtains around each bed were yanked aside by the centuries old charm that helped to wake students in time for breakfast. There was a chorus of groans around the room as the boys were all exposed to the bright firelight, and one high pitched squeak. Draco frowned, that didn’t sound right. He twisted his head to his left, just in time to see a mousy brunette duck her head under the covers next to a very smug looking Blaise. He noticed Draco looking and offered a sly grin.  
“You were the one who worked out how to get girls in here Draco. I’m just taking advantage.” He said with a wink. Draco offered a silent thanks to Merlin that the curtains were also charmed to be soundproof. 

 

It had become tradition in History of Magic that Hermione would attempt to take notes, and Draco would attempt to distract her. Well, he didn’t know if she saw it as tradition, but he certainly did. She could always get rid of their shared parchment. She could crumple it up and burn it, severing any contact between them. But she didn’t. She wanted him to talk to her. She enjoyed their stolen conversations and witty banter just as much as he did. She would sort her notes out at the beginning of class, arranging her fresh parchment to the right of her textbook, and studiously begin making notes while her companion’s eyes would start to droop. Once she saw that most people weren’t paying attention, she would subtly remove another piece of parchment from her history of magic textbook, and lay it amongst the notes she was taking. He figured that was his cue to keep the conversation going, and he found an odd satisfaction that she was treating their parchment as some clandestine rendez-vous that must be kept secret from Potty and Weasel. He liked knowing something about her that they didn’t know. Because he hated them, of course.  
“This week, students, we will be moving on to study the history of a new creature, and the various incidents, precedents, notable figures, by-laws, wars, truces, and legal standings of said creature, that creature, of course, being the vampire.” Binns was droning on again, and even the lure of studying an actually interesting creature couldn’t keep most of the class from falling into a stupor. Draco casually doodled on his parchment, waiting for Blaise’s attention to be inevitably drawn to trying to peer down Pansy’s shirt as she leaned back in front of them. Draco suspected she was doing it intentionally.  
_Have you been reading the book I gave you? ___  
So she was going to initiate conversation today. Interesting.  
_I’ve skimmed it. ___  
_And? ___  
_His writing style is a little dry. ___  
He could hear her huff from across the room.  
_And what about the content of his argument, Draco? What did you think of that? ___  
Draco sighed and rubbed the scruff of a beard growing about his chin. He didn’t want to admit that a pureblood elitist, his own ancestor, was batshit crazy. It would give away too much power. But she was right, he had read that book cover to cover and had found absolutely no genuine proof that muggles were to blame for the ills of wizarding community and the wider world. There were arguments that claimed the increase in squib numbers among pureblood families was due to the parallel increase in the number of muggleborn wizards and witches in magical society, but Draco was pretty sure that was more likely the fault of inbreeding than Brutus’ theory of magic being ‘leached’ from the purebloods through the air by greedy muggleborns. He also couldn’t believe the assertion that muggleborns were plotting to share their magical abilities and products with their non-magical brothers and sisters, simply because it hadn’t happened in the years since the book had been published, so why would they start doing so now?  
_Look, Granger, he’s my ancestor, and you know that the Malfoy name means a lot to me, but I’m pretty certain he was adopted. ___  
_Are you saying you concede that there’s no basis to his arguments? ___  
_I’m conceding that Brutus Malfoy was probably insane, and should not be taken as a representative of the Malfoy family. ___  
_Come on, Draco, you’re being stubborn and proud. Do you believe in blood theory after reading that book? ___  
_You know that I barely believed it before reading the book, Granger. ___  
_So you don’t believe that purebloods are better than muggleborns now? ___  
_Depends on the pureblood in question. For example, I’m probably better than all muggleborns in just about every way possible. ___  
_Is that why I’ve beaten you in almost every class since first year? ___  
_Well, you’re an anomaly Granger. ___  
_You sure know how to flatter a girl. ___  
Draco smirked. She was flirting. He knew he shouldn’t be talking to her, had known since the first time he sent her that parchment, but he felt so compelled to interact with her, and this was the safest way. Bantering away History of Magic with Granger was for some reason the only thing he looked forward to these days. There was so much pain and darkness in his life at the moment, he didn’t want to question the one joy he had found.  
“So the Vampires then formed a clan around the Count, naming him their leader and moving their base of operations to his castle in the remote highlands…” Binns was still plowing through his lesson, oblivious to the fact that no one was listening, as per usual.  
_I heard there’s going to be a vampire at old Sluggy’s party._ Draco deliberated for a moment before adding, _Are you going?_  
Across the room, he watched her pause, her cheeks colouring ever so slightly before she responded.  
_Professor Slughorn has invited me. ___  
_I suppose you’ll take Weasley, then. He must be so happy to go to an event where there’s free food. _Draco wrote bitterly.__  
_What does that mean, Malfoy? ___  
_Are you looking forward to having to babysit him all night? I bet he doesn’t even eat with his mouth closed. ___  
_Who even said I’m taking Ron? ___  
_Oh please, you two have been dancing around each other since third year. Though I have no idea what you see in him. ___  
_I see a kind man who is loyal to his friends and treats everyone with respect, no matter where they come from or what their name is. ___  
He bristled at that. Weasley was a damn moron and no one would convince him otherwise. The fact that she thought so highly of him made Draco furious. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d become so interested in Granger’s life, but it was like an infuriating itch that he couldn’t help but scratch.  
_Well I hope you two are happy together in whatever hovel he can scrape together. ___  
_Don’t do this again, Malfoy. ___  
_Maybe you’ll even have windows. ___  
_I told you to be nice to Ronald. ___  
_Perhaps even a door that closes all the way. Won’t that be nice in the winter. ___  
_God, Draco, stop it. I have no intention to marry Ronald, why does everyone think that? ___  
_So you don’t like him then? ___  
_That’s none of your business. ___  
Draco allowed a smug grin to pass over his face.  
_Maybe you like one of the other apes in your sorry excuse for a house. I saw you cozying up to Finnegan the other day. Fancy a little Irish sausage Granger? ___  
_..Seamus? What are you talking about? ___  
_After DADA the other day, I saw him trying to cop a feel. ___  
_Ew. No, Malfoy, just because your relationship with Pansy comes with added benefits, doesn’t mean we are all like that. ___  
Draco frowned as his stomach turned. He hadn’t been interested in Pansy all year, and now even imagining her that way, disgusted him. But he couldn’t let Granger know that.  
_Maybe you’re not into the dweebs after all. What about that 7th year that’s wide as a doorway and just as stupid? McLadden? ___  
_McLaggen. What about him? ___  
_Well, maybe he’s more your type. You know, tall, strong, stupid. Maybe you like the idiots because they make you feel smarter. ___  
_Just talking to you makes me feel very clever, thank you. ___  
_Because you can glimpse the level of intelligence you aspire to achieve someday?_  
_Because your assumptions about what girls look for in a man are absurd to the point of delusion. You want to think that the only thing girls are attracted to is a handsome face, because that’s all you’ve got going for you._  
He blinked. She must have realized her mistake, because when he looked up at her, she was pointedly looking down and scribbling furiously at her class notes.  
_Oh Granger, I never knew you felt that way._  
_Shut up Malfoy._  
His ego was soaring. He was rolling out the ache in his back as he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and smirked at her.  
_Now I understand, you don’t want any of those dimwits, those pitiful little Gryffindor boys. You want the looks, the brains, and the brawn, the whole package. What you want, Granger, is a real man._  
_Please, even McLaggen is more of a man than you._  
That hit harder than he expected. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth at the thought of being passed over for that oaf, for that braindead jock who couldn’t even beat Weasel for keeper. He was enraged as he wrote back.  
_Well maybe you should take him to the stupid party then. It’s not like a dirty muggleborn would ever have a chance with a pureblood like me._  
He meant it as an insult, but instead of feeling satisfied, he just felt deeply saddened by it, staring at the page as students packed up their belongings around him, not even noticing as Granger subtly wiped her eyes on her way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another chapter, rapid fire. And I think this is my longest chapter yet sooooo I hope you guys like it, I think you can see where the next chapter will be going after this, which I'm so looking forward to because it will be lots of fun... anyway enjoy, and thank you for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

Christmas was nearly here, and there was a palpable sense of relief settling over the castle that always came around the end of term. The last day of classes brought a flurry of activity as students readied themselves to start the holidays, chit chatting about their plans and fussing over their packing. Even the teachers were unusually relaxed, Professor McGonagall went so far as to smile as Granger conjured a Christmas wreath out of thin air. The castle was covered in snow, the giant tree was up in the great hall, and Peeves had spent the last week hanging mistletoe outside Filch’s door. Unfortunately for the old man, Peeves had also enchanted it to trap him there until someone gave him a kiss. He had been rescued several times by the professors who could remove the charm, while Peeves danced and clapped in the air above them. The Christmas feast followed the last day of classes, and was a cacophony of exhilarated noise in the giant stone hall as students and teachers alike celebrated the coming of Christmas. The very last event of the year was Slughorn’s party, to be held the night before students bundled aboard the Hogwarts Express so they could be home in time for Christmas Day. Most of the students were looking forward to going home, but Draco was not among them. His success with the cupboard had been minimal at best, and Katie Bell had just been a disaster. He was dreading returning what had once been his palace, but was now disfigured by the darkness lurking within it. He was reading the latest letter from his mother as he sat before the fireplace in the Slytherin dormitory, while students bustled around him trying to gather their belongings. 

_My Dearest Son,_  
_The weather here is getting very cold, but we had our first snow last night, and the grounds are absolutely beautiful covered with a blanket of ice. I can’t wait for you to be home to see it. I am concerned for the sake of my roses though, I have applied a warming charm to keep them from freezing over, but the ground is just so cold I’m afraid they will freeze from the roots up, charmed or no._  
_It’s busy here, as always. I have the elves doing their annual cleaning of the ballroom, though I don’t think we will be hosting any New Years gathering this year._

__

__

Draco gave a wry laugh at that. No, he didn’t think they would be hosting anyone at the Manor this year. All those deatheaters wandering around really ruined the party atmosphere. 

_I’ve had letters from your father, he says he is in high spirits and they are feeding him well. He’s in high security so unfortunately I am not allowed to visit him at this time, but he hopes to be moved into the general populace and then be allowed visitation. He’s so strong, your father, and I am sure that he will find a way back to us before this is all over._

‘Merlin,’ thought Draco, ‘when will that be?’  
He didn’t believe for a second that his father was being taken care of, in fact he doubted whether his mother had even heard from him since his incarceration. But she was trying to shelter her son from the reality of Azkaban, and Draco couldn’t help but feel a rush of love for his mother. She was aloof, she was cold, she was proud, but she was more loving than he deserved. He missed her, he ached for the safety he felt as a child when she would wrap him in her arms and soothe him, tell him he was safe, tell him he was loved. He knew too much now, he knew that he was not safe, and, apart from her, wasn’t loved. He sighed as he skimmed the last part of her letter.  


_I can’t wait to see you, my darling boy. Take care of yourself, I’ll be waiting for you. Narcissa._

It lay unspoken that she was not the only one waiting for him to return home. Voldemort would certainly want a progress report, and he couldn’t go home empty handed. If he was lucky, the Dark Lord wouldn’t have heard about Katie Bell. But he hadn’t had much luck lately. He dragged his palms over his eyes, tonight was the last night before heading home, and his last chance to do any work on the cabinet. He folded the letter into his pocket, brushing his fingertips over Granger’s parchment, and hoisted himself off the couch.  
“Where are you going?” asked Pansy, sitting on Theodore’s lap and looking very pleased with herself.  
“Just for a walk, mum. Don’t wait up.” He snarled at her. He smirked to himself as her face fell. 

The corridors were so dark these days. He had little success with the cabinet, which he had expected, but it still left him feeling defeated. He dodged the torches lining the hallways, half to stay hidden, and half because he wanted to shun the light, to reject its warmth and clarity. It was an odd feeling borne of his anger, a kind of irrational frustration, but he was fuelled by it. He noticed himself walking in the direction of Slughorn’s party. On the way to the room of requirement, no one had noticed him slip by with all the people milling around. Now they were all inside, drinking elvish wine and flattering each other’s egos. He was curious to see it. This was one light he felt drawn to, and the fury in his gut faded as he approached the arched window separating the hallway from the party room. There was Slughorn, red in the face and gesturing wildly to a group of smiling men and women, and one man who looked too pale and wild eyed to be human.  
“So that’s the vampire.” Draco murmured to himself.  
He scanned the room, noticing a selection of his classmates, including Longbottom, who was carrying a tray of drinks. Draco snorted, of course that imbecile would take the extra credit. He was delivering a drink to a tall man, with sandy hair, who Draco recognized as McLaggen. Longbottom moved to the left and- wait, what? That couldn’t be, Granger? Granger, with her hair somewhat tamed, in a dress, standing next to McLaggen like they were, what, together? Draco’s jaw clenched and he felt his shoulders tense. It was revolting, McLaggen’s over confident grin, the way he clinked their glasses together before drinking, the way his hand curled over her hip while she smiled uncertainly. Did the ape have no idea that he was making her uncomfortable? Or did he just not care? Draco watched as her eyes roamed the room looking for an exit, and of course she caught him looking through the window. Their eyes met, and Draco saw her face change from surprise into embarrassment, then settle into satisfaction. She smiled up at McLaggen, excused herself from him, and made her way towards the door. He made no move to meet her, just watched as she clip clopped in her little heels along the stone corridor.  
‘Must be a warming charm inside.’ He thought absently as he noticed her bare arms prickle with goosebumps. Her skin was so creamy in the firelight, her eyes so captivating as she came to a stop before him. 

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”  
“I was just out for an evening stroll, thought I’d look in on the festivities.” He said with a shrug, casually placing his hands in his pockets.  
“The question is, Granger, what are you doing? I thought you said you like smart blokes.”  
“I thought you said I should take what I can get. So, I took McLaggen.”  
“Bit handsy, isn’t he?”  
She crossed her arms, and looked slightly uncomfortable as she replied.  
“He’s just excited. Christmas and all. And I think he and his friends had a few pre drinks before he came… anyway it’s none of your business. Maybe I like handsy.”  
Draco was glad his hands were in his pockets so she couldn’t see him ball them into fists.  
“If he’s not noticing that you’re uncomfortable just with his arm around you, you think he’ll notice you’re uncomfortable with his tongue down your throat?”  
She shifted her weight.  
“Look, like I said, it’s none of your business. I know how to handle myself. Anyway, what do you care?”  
“I don’t.”  
“So leave.”  
She was so quick, no one else had ever challenged his wit like her. Draco’s begrudged admiration was slowly growing, and he didn’t want to leave her, not yet.  
“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready, princess. I haven’t even seen the vampire attack yet.”  
“And you’re not going to, Slughorn is keeping a close eye on him, poor man has been drinking blood out of a juice box.”  
“Don’t tell me you feel sorry for the vampire.”  
“I sympathise with any creature who can’t live in freedom.”  
“So you’d let him run wild in a castle full of teenagers who can’t defend themselves?”  
“No, I wouldn’t have brought him here just for entertainment value. It’s cruel, in a way, to surround him with food and tell him he can’t eat.”  
“You think he brought the vampire as a gimmmick?”  
“I think he brought him for notoriety, to make his party more memorable.”  
“Well Slughorn does love the drama. Why do you think he likes Potter so much?”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“Oh come on, Granger, I know you’re as pissed off as I am about Potter beating us in potions. He has to be cheating, he’s just not that good. And you know Slughorn favours him because he’s the fucking chosen one or whatever.”  
She stiffened, closing off after their little period of banter.  
“I don’t know what you mean. Harry’s worked very hard and is finally getting recognized for it. It- he’s- I’m happy for him.” She managed.  
They stared at each other in silence. Draco was waiting for her to change sides, but she was firmly and stubbornly defending Saint Potter, and Draco was once again infuriated to feel himself passed over for a fucking Gryffindor.  
“You’d better get back, before McLaggen becomes vampire hors d’oeuvre .” Draco said, crossing his arms and turning back to the window. She watched him for one more moment, before turning away from him and walking back in to the party. Draco watched her navigate her way through the crowd, pausing beside McLaggen, and cleverly moving out of his reaching fingers. Draco smirked to himself, and was about to turn away, when he felt a heavy hand clap down on his shoulder.  
“What’s this then eh? Student taking himself for a walk down the corridors eh?” came the unmistakable voice of Argus Filch. Draco groaned and hung his head. Where was Peeves and his mistletoe when you needed him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess the only upside to spending the last couple of days sick in bed is that I can post three chapters in a row! I'm trying to make up for my long absence I guess. Anyway, I really like manipulating the original story to fit my story, for example in canon HBP Hermione is trying to make Ron jealous by asking McLaggen to the party, but in my head she's doing it to piss of Draco. And she can't tell Harry that she's doing it to piss of Draco because then she'd have to tell him about how she talks to Draco. God I love Dramione.  
> Please enjoy, and thank you for reading.


	12. Chapter 12

Malfoy Manor was coated in a thick layer of silence, the snow blanketing any sound of life. The sparkling white expanse was dazzling to Draco as he sat by the window of a forgotten drawing room, turning a green apple over and over in his hand. It was Christmas Day, but despite the snow, the smell of fresh pine trees and the fire blazing, Draco could not bring himself to feel remotely festive. It was hard to feel joyful when his childhood home was cluttered with evidence of Death Eaters stalking its halls, even though most of them were with their families today. This morning when he had exchanged gifts with his mother, he felt clinical and detached, muttering praise for the dragon hide notebook that was supposedly from his father. He even managed to feign interest in the book she had given him, _Magical Creatures; Myths and Monsters _. He didn’t notice how intense her gaze was as she watched him pore over the contents, which started with Acromantula and ended with Werewolves. All he noticed was the smile she gave him when she opened her gift, a framed portrait of herself and Draco when he was a child. In the photo, Draco was giggling as she tickled him in her lap, his icy blond hair dancing around his cherub face, while she grinned down at him with a look of utter adoration. Draco had always loved that photo, but his father didn’t approve of having such sentimental items on show. Well, people who got themselves thrown in Azkaban didn’t really have a say in what pictures were on display in their homes. Draco smirked to himself as he thought of his father, there was a vindictive part of him that liked to see his father suffer.__  
“That’s what you get for being a fucking asshole, Lucius.” Draco murmured, staring at the glossy skin of the apple he still turned over in his right hand.  
He couldn’t decide if he was hungry or not. He’d barely eaten at lunch, his mother sending him worried looks as he nibbled on pieces of bread, roasted chestnuts, potatoes, roast beef. He wondered if perhaps he’d finished growing, and his normally voracious teenage boy appetite was subsiding, but he was still having to perform extension charms on his trousers, not to mention the fact that his shirts were a lot more fitted than they were just months ago. It was odd really, his face looked gaunt and tired, but his body seemed to be growing bigger. He had headaches and body aches and felt like he was constantly sick, yet he seemed to be slowly growing stronger. Still, it wasn’t much good if he wasn’t going to be alive to enjoy it in six months, he thought with a sigh. He felt alone, even though he was at home with his mother, there was nowhere near the same feeling of safety that he had once had here. This home was foreign now, infected, it was as though it was rotting away until it was a hollow shell of a home. Though, thinking back to all the stilted, formal family portraits that littered the hallways, Draco realized it had always been hollow, and had never been much of a home.  
“Draco!”  
His mother’s urgent shout made him jump, and Draco blinked away his melancholy train of thought as she burst into the room.  
“Merlin, Draco, I’ve been looking for you for five minutes! The Dark Lord is coming, he’ll be here any minute.”  
Draco’s eyes widened, and he abruptly stood and hurried out of the room. Of course, he had expected to face an audience with the Dark Lord, but he had thought he’d have a little longer to prepare himself. They made their way through the corridors of the huge mansion quickly, and arrived in the main entrance hall just in time to see smoke coalesce into the form of Lord Voldemort. Draco snapped his head down, fearing to see the cold anger in those dark eyes, while his mother gently bowed her head, her placid face showing not a single trace of her fear.  
“Narcissa, my dear.” The Dark Lord purred.  
“My Lord.” Her voice was clear, even.  
“Thank you, Narcissa, for having me on such short notice. But I so wanted to see Draco, while he is with us.”  
Draco lifted his gaze at the mention of his name, catching Voldemort’s calculating eyes.  
“After all,” he continued, “Christmas is a reminder that we must keep close those who are most important to us.”  
“Of course, my Lord. What is the saying, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?” Narcissa said with a smile, trying to lighten the tension that radiated off Voldemort.  
“Ah my dear, I believe in keeping everyone close to me, near enough to touch.” He turned to her and softly brushed her cheek with a pale, slender finger. “That way, you are never surprised when someone you thought a friend, instead becomes your enemy.”  
Narcissa met his gaze, but offered no rebuttal. Draco felt his heart sink as the Dark Lord turned back towards him, and swept past him in the direction of the library. He chanced a glance at his mother before turning to follow, knowing that he would have to make this appearance alone. His Dark Mark was stinging again, it had never healed properly and Draco wondered if the occasional sting was the Dark Lord’s way of reminding him that he was there, that he had hooks in Draco’s body, and would drag him to the depths if he failed his master.  
“So, Draco.” Voldemort began as he settled in a towering wingback armchair by the fire. “How is your schooling going?”  
“Fine, thank you my Lord.” Draco replied, standing with his head down.  
“Very good, and your friends? The younger Crabbe and Goyle?”  
“They’re good, thank you my Lord.”  
“And dear Miss Parkinson, is she well?”  
“She’s well, thank you my Lord.”  
“I see, well I am glad to hear that the next generation are all coming along. It seems there is only one of them that I need worry about. Do you know who that might be, Draco?”  
Draco kept his head down, though he could feel Voldemort’s piercing gaze.  
“No, my Lord.”  
“Why, it’s you, Draco. You have caused me quite a bit of worry already. You see, at first, when I gave you this task, you seemed so pleased, so eager to prove yourself. But now, I’m hearing reports of you neglecting your schoolwork, snapping at your friends, and even cursing a young Gryffindor girl in a botched assassination attempt.” Voldemort had begun playing the concerned parent, but now his speech was sharp and ice cold, and Draco could almost feel the tiny pinpricks of needles across his skin as the Dark Lord spoke.  
“I’m sorry, my Lord.”  
“I did not give you this task so that you could give it away, Draco. I gave you this task because I thought you could do it, I thought you could handle the pressure. I thought you were different to your father, better, even.”  
The pinpricks were definitely not in his mind, and Draco was struggling to stay still as they tingled and burned across his skin.  
“I’m sorry, my Lord. I’ll do better next semester, I swear it.”  
“Oh I should hope so, Draco. There are plenty of seasoned killers among my ranks who would be more than willing to take on the illustrious task of killing Albus Dumbledore. In fact, many of them are living in this house.”  
Draco’s breath caught as the pin pricks reached a crescendo, they were stabbing him all at once all over his body, so much that he could barely comprehend the thinly veiled threat against his mother.  
“He’ll be dead before the school year is out, my Lord, as you asked.” He choked out. At once, the pinpricks subsided, and Draco gasped and coughed as his breath returned.  
“Indeed he will. In the meantime, Snape will be keeping an even closer eye on you. I recommend you take advantage of whatever help he can give you.”  
Draco bowed his head, nodding, as the Dark Lord stood, and slowly walked to stand in front of him. Draco felt thin fingers lift his chin up, forcing him to meet his master’s eyes.  
“Don’t fail me again.” The Dark Lord was unblinking as a wave of pinpricks rolled over Draco once more, before he turned away and swept from the room. 

__As soon as he was gone Draco collapsed into an armchair, feeling the heat of the fire for the first time. His breath was still uneven, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. The sting of his Dark Mark was beginning to subside, but he felt even more wretched than ever, as the enormity of his task was clear to him once again. It occurred to him, distantly, that once Dumbledore was gone, there would be no one to turn to if the Dark Lord ever decided that the Malfoys were enemies. He had already questioned whether the entire ideology of the Death Eaters was true, now he was questioning whether he even wanted to be involved in it. Perhaps he should just defect, as soon as he got back to school he could run to Dumbledore and empty himself of this poisonous plan. Maybe even join the side of the light. For some reason, an image of himself sitting next to Granger, bathed in sunlight, tugging on one of her loose curls as she turned to him and smiled, brought him a brief moment of peace. He leaned back in his chair and stared into the flames, just imagining the texture of her hair between his fingers. But then he remembered his mother, all alone in this big house, with Death Eaters swarming in and out at all hours of the day. What would happen to her if he defected? He could picture her face as she stared at the photograph he had given her that morning, heartbreakingly beautiful, she was as loving and devoted as she was fierce and aloof. And she was the only person who truly, truly cared for him. He couldn’t risk her. His hand reached into his pocket, drawing out the parchment he shared with Granger. It was started to fray around the edges, and the lines where he had folded it were growing darker. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, he wasn’t sure if she had even taken the parchment home, but he couldn’t help himself. Grabbing ink and quill from the writing desk behind him, he flattened the parchment out before writing three simply words in a slow, purposeful script._ _

_Merry Christmas, Granger. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, there's no Hermione in this chapter. I just felt it was important to include more Narcissa and Voldemort... plus laying more foundation for Veela Draco to come. Anyway, I hope you still enjoy it, and thank you for reading.


	13. Chapter 13

“What a pleasant surprise, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco dragged his eyes away from the silver wings flying by in the moonlight, and turned to look at the old man standing behind him. Dumbledore was just as mysterious as ever with his twinkling eyes and subtle smile, though Draco thought he looked just a little more fatigued, his hand a little blacker than last time. The last time he had had this dream, Dumbledore had watched him with unnerving patience, and he had woken up sweating over whether his headmaster knew anything in real life. Dream Draco shifted uneasily, looking down as he noticed the wand in his hand for the first time.

“You mean you haven’t been expecting me?”

“I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

Draco frowned.

“I suppose you’re going to offer me a way out then.”

Dumbledore sighed, and Draco was sure that he recognised the fatigue the old man felt, for he saw it each day in his own reflection.

“No, Draco. There is no way out.”

Draco felt the weight of that sentence like an anchor, dragging his weary spirit to the depths.

“But,” the headmaster added, looking at Draco curiously now. “There might be a way.. down.. so to speak.”

Draco was confused, he barely had time to formulate a question in his mind before his feet were yanked out from underneath him and he was thrown from the tower, plummeting to the ground at a terrifying speed. He braced his arms over his eyes, squeezing them shut as he anticipated the impact that would kill him, but it never came. He waited another moment before he caught the scent of honeysuckle, and the warm feeling of the sun that he was sure hadn’t been there a moment before. He opened his eyes, and instead of seeing the dark tower where Dumbledore awaited death by Draco’s shaking hand, he saw a meadow. He was lying in long grass, and as he watched, a bee flew over his head, landing on a wildflower, completely unbothered by Draco’s presence. He caught the scent of honey again, and lavender, and a chorus of other florals so densely entwined that he would never be able to sort them from each other. He sat up, slowly, disappointed to see the bee zoom away from him, but as he followed its path he noticed for the first time a woman, walking through the meadow, picking flowers. Her chestnut hair was a chaotic mane down her back, but her hands were delicate, plucking each flower gently before adding them to her bouquet. He couldn’t see her face, but as she ran her fingers through her riotous hair he caught a glimpse of soft pink lips, turned ever so slightly upwards into a smile. He knew her. She was beautiful, she was gentle, she was soft and warm, and Draco knew her. He slowly sat up further and the rustling noise he made was enough to make her aware of his presence. She turned her head to him, and as he watched the graceful curve of her neck, the pale pink of her cheeks, the freckles dotting her nose come into view, his breath caught. She was perfect. She was everything he wanted to love rolled into one person. She was the sun, and he was just a lowly snake warming himself in her glow. It wasn’t until he looked into her eyes that he realized who she was. She walked towards him, as he stared at her dazedly. She sat beside him in the grass, tucking her white dress underneath her legs neatly, before fixing him with a smile.

“Look,” she thrust the flowers forward, forcing him to glance down at the white bouquet. “We can make daisy chains. Have you ever made one?”

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off her little smile as he shook his head.

“Here, I’ll show you.” She said, setting the flowers down in his lap as she moved closer to him. He watched her picking up the daisies, splitting the stem, and weaving them together until she had formed a little circlet of flowers, woven so perfectly that Draco would never know where she had begun. She reached up and perched the crown delicately on her head, and her triumphant smile made Draco’s head spin.

“Now you try.” She encouraged him, moving closer still, till her knees were resting against Draco’s thigh. His body sizzled at the touch. With shaking hands, he picked up a daisy, trying to carefully split the stem like he had seen her do, but his hands were too strong, and he decapitated the poor flower. She just laughed, and took a daisy from his lap.

“Perhaps I’ll be in charge of making the daisy crowns, shall I?”

He nodded at her, still too stunned to speak. His eyes roved over her, from the soles of her feet, dirty from having walked barefoot around the meadow, to the ring of flowers on her head, shining golden in the afternoon light. She soon looked up at him, her soft smile still on her face as she reached up to place the crown on his head. Her hand slid down to his cheek, thumb brushing it gently as she gazed at him with such affection that he stopped breathing all together.

“A crown fit for a king.”

Merlin, she was everything.

“And a queen fit for a king.” He heard himself say. The smile that bloomed on her face was ethereal, and Draco realized he had never felt as safe, as loved and as whole as he did in that moment. She was still grinning at him as he leant forward, eyeing her reaction all the time, but she seemed completely unfazed by the fact that he was about to kiss her. When he was a breath away from those impossibly sweet lips, he closed his eyes, and as he did so, the meadow began to spin, he was being dragged upwards, the smell of honey and lavender fading as he woke up with a gasp.

 

Draco looked frantically around the room, panting and sweating in his distress. After a few frantic moments, the room began to look familiar to him, and his breathing began to slow as he recognised his childhood bedroom bathed in darkness. He leaned forward in the bed, rubbing his hands over his face as though to wash the night’s sleep off himself. He abruptly remembered someone else’s hands, just moments ago, a soft brush on his cheek and a smile that radiated warmth, love.

“A dream. That’s all.” He murmured to himself.

Sighing, Draco pulled himself off the bed, pausing to stretch out some of the stiffness of sleep, before strolling over to the curtains and opening them wide. It was just after dawn, the grounds of the manor sleeping beneath the snow and the fog that seemed to catch and spread the light of the sun. Draco took a moment to admire the view, so peaceful, so undeniably beautiful, before he noticed a chill creeping up his arms, and turned back to the comfort of the blankets. Moving back towards the bed, his eyes caught on the book he had been reading last night before he went to sleep. It was the book his mother had given his for Christmas this year, _Magical Creatures; Myths and Monsters._ He assumed she had chosen it because a large portion of the book was devoted to describing the different kinds of dragons in the world, and Draco had always been keenly interested in knowing more about his namesake. He had been perusing that very topic last night before bed, reading about the Antipodean Opaleye, a dragon he had never even heard of. He grabbed the book once again as he settled back into the covers, letting it fall open on his lap to expose Granger’s parchment, which he had used as a bookmark. Draco’s eyebrows rose slightly as he noticed the writing, which had definitely not been there last night, or any night in the couple of weeks since he had written to her.

 

_Merry Christmas, Malfoy. Have you enjoyed the break?_

He smiled gently, before shouting “Iggy!”

A moment later, a loud crack indicated the presence of the house elf, who bowed low and mumbled something subservient into the carpet.

“Bring me a quill and some ink.”

Iggy squeaked, stumbling over her feet as she rushed to the desk just feet away from Draco’s bed, and collected his silver tipped dragon claw quill, and a bottle of ink on a tray. She rested the tray on the bed next to him, and bowed low to the floor again.

“Is there anything else Iggy can do for young Master?” Iggy asked nervously.

“No, that will be all, Iggy. Thank you.” Draco replied mindlessly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the elf’s head snap up to stare at him.

“What?” he asked her, looking at her confused.

“Oh! Nothing Master Draco! Iggy is sorry Master Draco. Iggy will be going now, yes. Yes sir. Thank you sir!”

As she finished speaking, Draco realised what had caused her reaction. He had thanked her. Draco didn’t remember another moment in his life that he had thanked a house elf. He had been raised to believe that serving him was their job, and why would they deserve thanks just for doing what they were meant to do? He looked down at the parchment, at Granger’s beautiful slanted handwriting. She always started so neat, and ended up scrawling by the end, just like her notes in class, he had noticed. It was probably her influence that had him thanking house elves, goddammit. Draco was tempted to tell her about it, to make her smile, to put him in better standing with her perhaps. Maybe she would see him as less of a monster.. then he realised exactly how that conversation would go; Hey Granger! I just thanked a house elf for bringing me a quill! And why exactly did you have to call a house elf rather than just walking to the other side of the room to get your own damn quill? Are you that spoiled?

He shook his head, he would never be more than a slimy pureblood to her.

_Well I don’t know about you, Granger, but I find that Christmas just doesn’t have the same charm when your father is in prison._

He was surprised when, a few moments later, he was distracted from his book by her response appearing on the page.

_Oh god, Draco I’m sorry. That must be terrible. Is your mother doing alright?_

She never ceased to surprise him with how deeply she cared for others. A lesser person would have sneered at him that his father could rot in Azkaban and it would be more than the family deserved. But, not Granger. She was sympathetic, and even concerned for his mother, who had shown exactly zero interest or kindness to Granger ever. But that was the difference between them, he supposed. His mother was cold and didn’t care for those outside her circle of loved ones, but those she loved she would die for. Granger.. she was fierce and loyal too, but she was kind to everyone, even to a fault.

_It’s not your fault Granger. Mother is.. she’s coping. Thank you._

The conversation was far too Gryffindor for his liking.

_So what do muggles do for Christmas then?_

_Much the same as wizards, really. Christmas trees, snowmen, presents. Dad insists on watching Die Hard, mum and I argue that it’s not a Christmas movie, but he always wins and then falls asleep half way through anyway._

_What the fuck is Die Hard?_

_Oh, sorry. It’s a movie. Not a Christmas one though._

_What the fuck is a movie?_

_Do you know nothing about muggles, Malfoy?_

_No, my pre-Hogwarts education was markedly lacking in any information about muggles. Perhaps I should ask father why he didn’t see the need to teach me about muggle movies, like Die Hard. Which incidentally, sounds like a Christmas movie to me._

He smirked to himself. He had no idea what she was talking about but he instinctively knew how to annoy her.

_Ugh, you’re just like Harry._

_How dare you._

_How dare I compare you to someone that I hold in high esteem?_

_Just because you have terrible character judgment doesn’t mean you can insult me with it. Although I should perhaps be thankful you’re not comparing me to Weasel._

_Please, let’s not talk about Ronald. Do you want to know what a movie is?_

Now that was interesting, Draco thought with a quirked eyebrow.

_I’d rather know why you don’t want to talk about the Weasel. Trouble in paradise?_

_I just don’t want to._

_What did he do? Drip butterbeer on your favourite book or something?_

_Shut up Malfoy._

_Make you write your own Christmas card? He’s that lazy, I bet he would do that shit._

_No, Malfoy. Stop it._

_Oh come on Granger, you’re always saying ‘Ronald’s not so bad, be nice to Ronald Draco, don’t be mean to Ronald Draco, even though you’re better than him in every way’ and now you don’t defend him at all. Obviously I’m curious._

_We just had a disagreement, that’s all._

Draco couldn’t help but gloat. For some reason, it made him very pleased to know that she was angry at Weasley, and instead was here, talking to Draco.

_Well I wouldn’t lose sleep over it Granger, he probably just can’t understand you. He’s not in your league and you know it._

_Thankyou, Draco._

If this was a verbal conversation, Draco guessed this part would be the awkward pause where they looked anywhere but each other.

_So are you ready to head back to school tomorrow?_

He smiled. She was still there, still wanting to talk to him. He lifted his quill, and the room was filled the quiet scratching sounds of his quill as he shared a stolen conversation with the former enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyaaaa it's been a long 6 months since I've written this, I'm sorry! I kind of got stuck, but I had the first half of this chapter written and so now I'm trying to work out the next bit of the story. Still super slow burn buttt I think Draco's had enough time to realise he doesn't hate Hermione now so we can maybe start moving forward. Anyway here is another chapter, sorry for the wait, and thank you for reading!


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